


Passion

by Mierke



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Dance Academy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:11:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1931493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mierke/pseuds/Mierke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cordelia goes to LA for some distraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passion

**Author's Note:**

> Set at the end of season 3 for Buffy, spoilers for _The Prom_ (3.20), but set somewhere before that. As far as Dance Academy goes, this is post-series. Knowledge of Dance Academy might bring something more to the story experience, but is not strictly necessary. (Written for [](http://womenverse.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://womenverse.livejournal.com/)**womenverse** 's crossover challenge)

Cordelia was looking out the window, trying to ignore the skeevy man beside her and the nagging feeling that hitching a ride out of Sunnydale was not exactly a smart thing to do. She hadn't had a choice, though. She had needed to leave it all behind, needed to feel like a princess one last time. Tomorrow, she would start working in the dress shop. Actually working.

She shuddered and shook her head to chase the thoughts away. Tonight was not about being morose. Tonight was about one last stand, her swan song before her entire life slipped away from her fingers and she had nothing left.

She got out of the car as the first shops came into view, the relief palpable as the man who had given her a ride let her go without any trouble. She thanked him with a dazzling smile and turned around, forcing her body to exude the kind of confidence that had always come naturally to her.

She belonged here.

She entered the shop, her eyes feasting on the dresses. She'd buy one, hide the tags and then return it tomorrow. It wasn't the same as buying one to keep, but it would do for now. The dress she fell in love with was black and sleek, elegant and sexy. Perfect for the night she was planning.

She was close to the Alex Theatre, and though it was nowhere near the time that the Los Angeles Ballet would start performing, she sought out the building anyway. In her everyday clothes she didn't look that different from the ballet dancers who entered the theatre, and after a slight moment of hesitation she sneaked in after them.

The backstage was filled with people walking every which way and Cordelia adopted the air of someone who knew exactly where she was going. She was walking past the changing rooms, some with their doors wide open, some closed, when she came upon a room where a couple of people were dancing. Just as she came to a standstill, the woman who had been lifted in the air fell and hurt her ankle.

Cordelia had expected sympathy to come from the other dancers, but they just exchanged glances as the woman tried to stand up, biting her lip in pain.

"Abigail, if you can't dance today, just say the word."

The words sounded nice, but the voice was icy, and Cordelia turned to the woman who had said them. She supposed she was the director, or whatever she would be called in a ballet company.

"I'm fine," Abigail snapped. "I just need a competent dance partner. I told you this would be a disaster. Get me someone else."

"Rowan, go tell Chris he's dancing tonight," the director said, her voice tired.

"No. If you're pairing me with Chris, we could just as well not dance tonight. Get me Thomas."

At Thomas' name, every head in the room shot up.

"Abigail, Thomas is just a choir boy!"

The director's disdain was clear in her voice and Cordelia admired Abigail's cool. She supposed as the principal she would have some sway, but to stand up for someone who was so obviously beneath her?

"I am well aware that Thomas is a choir boy. He is, however, much more capable than any of the idiots this company has deigned to hire as principals."

There was a nervous twitch underneath the director's eye, but she did give in to Abigail's demands.

"Get Thomas," she said to the boy standing next to her, who hurried out of the door. Cordelia watched as Abigail tested her ankle, stubbornly walking through the pain. Abigail looked up and their eyes met. Cordelia felt the spark of recognition of another lonely soul and hurried out of the building.

She spent a few hours in a restaurant nearby, taking as long as she could on her salad before using the bathroom as a changing room. She came out feeling like a different person, and walked back towards the Alex Theatre.

She had never really thought about ballet before, but she soaked in the atmosphere of the lobby. She could almost taste the excitement in the air, even though the people were talking quietly. She entered the theatre itself and prepared for the performance, closing her eyes and focussing all of her senses. No matter what her dad had done, this was where she belonged.

When she came out three hours later, she was on the verge of changing that opinion. She had never been so bored in her entire life. The only thing that had kept her from falling asleep was Abigail, dancing on that stage. It appeared her choice of Thomas the choir boy had been valid, because he had danced perfectly, as far as Cordelia could tell. Which, admittedly, didn't mean all that much. But he hadn't dropped her, which seemed to Cordelia as a definite point in his favour.

Cordelia had admired the woman who had danced as if nothing was hurting. She could still remember the look on her face as she tested her ankle. It must have hurt like hell, and still Abigail had danced as if nothing was wrong.

Determined to see her and unwilling to cut her evening short already, she made her way to the back entrance. Abigail was just crouching down to meet a little girl's eyes, a smile on her face.

"Hi little one. Did you enjoy the performance?"

The girl nodded enthusiastically and held out her playbill for Abigail to sign. Cordelia was still considering her own playbill when Abigail had gotten back up and turned to her.

"I saw you backstage," she said.

"You were hurt," Cordelia countered. "How can you still dance?"

Abigail shrugged.

"Pain is just an illusion. Do you dance?"

"A bit. I'm head cheerleader."

Abigail scoffed and dismissed her remark with a hand wave.

"That's nothing like dancing."

"What? You think we don't work hard, get injured, perform even when we don't feel like it?"

She didn't immediately get a response, as Abigail got interrupted by another girl asking for an autograph. When she turned back to Cordelia, her smile was gone and her voice hard.

"You have no idea. Ballet doesn't give you a choice. It is something you breathe, something you do every day; it overtakes every single moment of your life. Cheering is something you do when you feel like it."

"I would kill to have something in my life that I was that passionate about," Cordelia answered with a wry smile.

"Be careful what you wish for," Abigail answered as she turned around and went back into the building. "Before you know it, it's killing you."

“Is it worth it?” Cordelia asked, genuinely wanting to know the answer. Abigail hesitated for a moment, her hand on the doorknob.

"Come and find me next year,” she replied. “Maybe then I’ll know."

As she slipped inside, Cordelia felt a strange pang of loss. She looked down at her playbill and committed the woman’s name to memory. Abigail Armstrong.

One day, she promised herself, one day, when she had found her passion, she would find Abigail again and tell her that what gave your life meaning was not supposed to kill you.


End file.
